


Voodoo

by HaephestusCrex



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Demonic Possession, Depression, Multi, Powerful!Reader, Psychological Warfare, Reader-Insert, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Shipping, all that shit, canon divergent after the events of The Impure King, comment and let me know the fandom isnt dead, every trigger, give it a chance though man hella research went into this, i put in effort man, introduces new mythical elements, it's actually trashy romance masquerading as a story, literally everything, super mature story, takes elements from the manga so spoiler warning, too many tags just go in with your eyes wide open, unapologetically AU after the Kyoto Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13099296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: Middle First-Class Exorcist Izaya Suoh of the Shinjuku Branch had his work cut out for him, and at first, he really did think he had it wrong about you - maybe the Vatican had bad intelligence. It wouldn't be the first time, after all. His orders are gather intelligence so the Church may apprehend a 'Class A' threat and put them in remand of the Vatican before a group of a more disreputable nature got there first.  Amaimon is confused, Mephisto is a little perturbed, and you? You're just - well - tired. All the power you could stomach, and yet, nobody told you how lonely it would all be, did they? Never mind the people vying for it, no one ever told you that the crown bore heavy. That's without factoring in the extra responsibility of a sadistic, controlling King of Rot - all you want is to be left to work your penance in peace. Unfortunately, a little incident involving the death of nine exorcists puts you pretty high on the Vatican shit-list."Apprehend her," motioned the Grigori "-before the Illuminati does."





	1. Troubled

 

Of all the people that they could have sent, Izaya Suoh was not the most spiritual, and considering his profession, that was something of a feat, but maybe that’s exactly why he’s been assigned this job. He’s a serious sort of man and always has been, in his early 30s, his eyes are grey and tired, but he’s got a good face. Soft features, a sensible haircut, complete with a tailor-fit suit and shiny black shoes that screamed someone of importance, or at the very least, someone who wandered right out of work and had come straight to Shinjuku looking to loosen up. Far from it, this is all work for him – work he’s incredibly good at. Reconnaissance, deep cover – he was good at that, not distracted by things like spirituality or faith, it’s the reason the Vatican recruited him at all in the beginning. He studies you carefully, watching you look him up and down and even he can see it – sense it – when you suddenly reach for his wrist and he feels the power rippling underneath your skin in the form of a low, thick, static energy upon contact.

 

“Oh, you’re brave, aren’t you?” you say, rhetorically. Izaya doesn’t react – though mentally files that you speak Japanese in a hard, inelegant tone, masculine and oozing like you’d learnt Japanese off a working-class dreg from Osaka or something.

_‘Great, a cocky foreigner who speaks Japanese like a Yakuza, this is going to be fun,_ ’ Izaya cringes internally, and instantly he knows what you’re referring to. He’d come up to you, after all, something not totally common especially in older Japanese men, they tended to be more reserved, even if you did get the odd look when you left tourist trap cities, foreigners tended to be admired from afar – the women, generally, until people had a few drinks in them anyway. He saw you looking confused and it’s true, you were, you’re trying to navigate your smartphone to little avail, as the GPS is being unwieldy and slow, you wanted to check when and were you could grab a train to Roppongi – and it gave Izaya a perfect reason to talk to you. Brave, not something you’re used to, being a foreigner in Japan was a real… experience, that was for sure. Worlds different from the places you’d been and come from.

 

“Guess you’re coming with me, huh, Mr Brave?” There was a certain air about him – not of malice no – but some sort of a danger that didn’t fit the deceptively harmless appearance he had, when you grabbed his wrist, you felt it off him. It was like a hunch, not that he was a creepy guy or anything, but something a little off, which suited you just fine, because you’re more than a little off yourself.

 

“Well you can’t expect me to leave a lady on her own at night, I can at least lead you to the subway station, it’s this way,” Izaya replied, no sooner had he pointed was he grabbed, letting himself get pulled by the hand. Japan is quite a safe place, he thinks, but maybe slightly less so if she manages to find herself in the company of more disreputable men than the average man of shyer disposition.

 

“How gallant, c’mon then Oldy, see if you can keep up – we’re going to Roppongi and we’re staying until the train lines open,” now, Izaya being a native, surprisingly, never visited Roppongi – the clubbing district, he’d been a quiet, studious boy, raised in a rural town before moving to a city to attend university when he got a scholarship, but, falling in line with his specialist skills and mission objective, he does his best not to react. It gets a little harder when you, in your spirited nature, grabbed for his tie and threw it in the closest bin, because you planned for him to dance, and loosen up. Honestly, he isn’t sure what to make of it. He had his fair share of tumbles and worldly experiences working with the Vatican, and they had branches in every region, meaning he often met representatives from all over the world, but even Izaya is at a loss to explain why you’re treating him so warmly. It’s not a foreigner thing, it’s a _you-thing,_ your entire body vibrating with an energy and power that he cannot trace, and absolutely pouring with life. Under the bright strobes and neon lights of Shinjuku at dark, he can see the darks of your eyes light up like stars, showing a faint redness around them, like maybe you’d been crying, or had an allergy. It’s faint, but he’s perceptive. The smile, while earnest, doesn’t seem to reach your eyes as you follow his verbal instruction to the subway, tugging him along, your other hand whipping backwards through your hair, like you’re brushing out all your responsibilities and common sense.

 

It’s why when he had to submit his report, first-hand, at his small hearing with the Grigori in Rome, a few other higher ups are there too, he laid his hands flat against a rich, gold balcony, looking up at his almost faceless-seeming judges, and for the first time in years, doubted them.

 

“She’s just a girl,” Izaya shrugged, when he closes his eyes, he remembers the night in intoxicated flashes. Dark, loud clubs where he can barely move an inch, other people’s sweat slicking him as he navigates the crowds. He remembers waiting, even when a drink gets accidentally spilled on you – for the penny to drop. For the rage to surface. It never does. He remembers you shrugging and throwing off your shirt, revealing a large, black lace bralette-shirt – which really did just barely qualify as a shirt at all – and toss the stained thing onto the back of a booth before returning into the fray.

 

“An absolute –” he remembers the screaming, the excited bouncing on the balls of your feet, the headbanging, the way you lost your mind when the DJ – Energy Kai – finally came out, and you managed to tear yourself through all four of the megaclub’s rooms. Izaya frantically searches for a word – the Grigori are waiting, quite a few people are even if it’s a small hearing.

 

“-Mess,” he settles on the word, shaking his head before raising his head up slowly. “-A mess of a person. I barely kept up, and I’m only thirty-four, she had me feeling like an old man,” he grimaced “-But I thought you might have gotten some mixed intelligence eventually. Nothing surfaced the entire night, or week for that matter,”.

 

Pause. Momentary silence, before one of the Grigori address him.

 

“And you’re certain he didn’t surface? Are you certain you were not in his company the entire night? Could it be that, perhaps you were, or that they’ve managed to take you in somehow. Sir Izaya – is it possible that you may be compromised?”

 

Izaya had never felt so insulted, enough so that he slammed his hands against the balcony in a seldom seen act of forward aggression, the injured pride visible on his face.

 

“You don’t think I can tell when I’m being taken in by someone else? I’ve been in the espionage game far longer than I’ve been an exorcist, I – am – not – _compromised,_ ” he all but hissed. It’s now, when his infamous temper flares that someone besides the Grigori speaks. 

 

“I’m sure you aren’t,” the voice is smooth, and cuts through the massive room like a hot knife through butter. “-You’re a Middle First-Class Exorcist, and Astaroth is not known for his subtlety,” the figure that speaks walks out of the shadows that hang over his body from the excessive décor, revealing a pristine white pants suit, and a pair of glistening loafers. Izaya tenses slightly – he’s used to the setup, but he isn’t used to answering demons, his faction in Shinjuku is entirely human, without a drop of demonic lineage to his knowledge, and in his opinion, it didn’t hamper his exorcists one bit. “-was there nothing out of the ordinary, Sir Izaya?”.

 

“There was an inordinate amount of kin – the Coal Tars – around her heels,” Izaya confessed, remembering the way they hung off your tights and you walked through the ever-present smog as though it didn’t bother you, like you couldn’t even see them. Hell, during the night, for a moment, he believed you couldn’t. “-but she didn’t make any suggestion that she could even see them, nor did Astaroth surface. If – and if – he had dominion over her, he was damn good at acting like a twenty-year-old alcoholic gaijin clubber,” he bit out.

 

He’s trying to blur out the part when you clambered up to his mouth – giving him a clumsy kiss which was nothing more than drunken bumbling, before slapping him on the back of his shoulder and laughing at him for going red from foot to face. Demons will say and do a lot, rule one of exorcism is to be prepared for the depths they will stoop and what they will exploit, but Astaroth was no baser demon. He was prideful to a point, a lot are, but Demon Kings are much worse for that, truly, and he couldn’t – wouldn’t – outrightly _refused_ to believe Astaroth would put his lips on him, Izaya can’t very well say that to the Grigori though, and have them questioning his conduct, so he wisely omits it.

 

“Sir Pheles,” the Grigori address him in turn, now he has decided to intervene on matters. “It is our understanding that, when a Demon King inhabits a vessel, they have nothing less than total dominion, and evidence to the contrary is usually a subversion tactic, is it not?” they know the answer, but they want Mephisto to clarify for the court, and so he does – easily.

 

“Correct~!” he claps his hands once, moving and speaking with his whole body, as was his nature. “Astaroth has always been the more hell-bound of us, and only left at the behest of Satan, and has henceforth not claimed a vessel in Assiah for the ah – long term – as myself and Amaimon have. His last known body was a – Reiji Shiratori, no?” he smiles a sharp-toothed grin with far too many teeth. Izaya can safely say he never much liked the guy, but right now, he’s intrigued to see where the line of conversation is going, as knowledge on Demon Kings is scattered and sacred.

 

“His last known movements were for the recruitment and retrieval of Rin Okumura, before exorcised by former-Paladin Shiro Fujimoto – yes, yes, we’ve read the file, get to your point if there is one,” it’s Angel who speaks now, impatient with Mephisto’s meandering, or what he perceives as such – in truth – he just despises when the man talks.

 

Mephisto merely tuts, as though Angel is a child whose spoken out of turn, and carries on undeterred, knowing he has every eye in the room on himself.

 

“He was exorcised, declared MIA, and presumed to be in Gehenna, and if – **and if** – he has resurfaced, I can confirm that he lacks a lot of the abilities outlined in the original assault report,” he continues to grin “-great though his power may be, he lacks the ability to bend wills in the manner detailed by Ushio and the other survivors,” – he raises his chin, giving them all a brazen response “-for all of _my_ power, tremendous as it is, not even I can do that,” he practically purrs, it’s almost imperceptible, but there is the vaguest hint of a hunger in his tone, wistful almost. It isn’t like he wants that power for himself – no, Mephisto finds his kicks in convincing and tainting the morals of people that come his way, it’s what makes his wagers and negotiations so fun and unpredictable, no, the wistfulness is a desire to have seen it for himself. Hells, he might just rewind everything and take a look for himself. CCTV camera footage isn’t quite the same, it’s like comparing television to live performance in his eyes.

 

Izaya was about to nod – to emphatically agree – before Mephisto continued his spiel.

 

“That said, the accumulation of Coal Tars lends credence to the theory that she’s being possessed by Astaroth, or she’s just a vulnerable girl, troubled, as Mr. Suoh insists,” Mephisto smiled, and suddenly the man in the stand felt uneasy.

 

“We will now take report from our secondary agent, we assigned Miss Shura Kirigakure to watch you from a distance in the case that anything surfaced,” Izaya cringes at this, but he’s not surprised, Shura’s good enough not to be spotted, no matter how lazy and blasé her attitude might come across.

 

The woman swaggers forward, hopping a balcony out of the stand and lazily approaching ahead of Izaya, arms folded under an impressive amount of cleavage and showing very little care for modesty in the presence of the Vatican.

 

“It’s true – nothing surfaced the entire week,” she shrugged “-and it looks like Astaroth’s been taking acting classes – she laid one on one Izaya pretty convincingly in my opinion, seems something he’d be too prideful to do, even as a subversion tactic,” Izaya keeps his expression, but he can feel his face burning and a few, questioning or mildly surprised stares. Shura smirks at him, but he just ignores it, refusing to look rattled.

 

‘ _Ohoh, that’s interesting,_ ’ Mephisto mused. Unlike the Vatican, he was not floundering for answers with the same panic, but he too was at a loss. He read the original report of course, he listened to the testimonies from the survivors. He glanced down at his lap, one leg folded over the other as he sat in a rich chair across from the Grigori, the reports all lazily opened and spread across his knees.

 

\------

 

‘ **OFFICIAL DEMONIC INCIDENT REPORT – VERITAS VOS LIBERABIT**

REPORTED BY: Ushio Fujikura                                               DATE OF REPORT: 02/12

TITLE/ROLE: Upper-Middle Class Exorcist                             INCIDENT NO _._ _(STAFF USE ONLY)_         

 

**DEMONIC INCIDENT INFORMATION**

 

INCIDENT TYPE: Possession, Mass Killing, Summoning       DATE OF INCIDENT: 30/11         

 

LOCATION:  Showa Park, Tachikawa City, Japan                 ZIP CODE/GPS COORD:  190-0014

 

BRANCH OF RESPONSIBILITY: Tokyo

 

INCIDENT DESCRIPTION: Four assailants, three dead on arrival, and the Unknown – referral from the MDI Police Division, reports of gunshots and unusual gang activity. Referred to the Tokyo Exorcist Branch upon presence of Ghouls. Dispatch #8 dispensed of all Ghoul activity, all eating the three dead assailants, signs of control. Dispatch #8 attempts remand of Unknown to Vatican custody, Dispatch notes rapid changes in tone, voice and physiology concurrent with possession. Unknown demonstrates ability to amalgam _Kōkusu_ from atmosphere-present Coal Tar when resisting arrest. Unknown demonstrates menticide abilities, Dispatch #8 turned weapons on each other following a loud scream [see attached autopsy reports] before Unknown fled the scene on foot, familiars unable to identify a trail.

 

CASUALTIES: 3 Civilians deceased [see attached testimony], 9 Exorcists deceased [autopsies attached]

 

ENTITY OR ENTITIES: Class-A Unknown. Est. 5”4 120lbl, Female, Foreign Non-Native. Possible Rot-Kin.

 

PROCEDURE TAKEN: One civilian survivor Hyeong Cheol-Gan taken for statement, Mashou treated by Doctor(s) Ushio Fujikura and Yasujiro Yanagimoto. Video interview and transcripts to be available from 01/12

 

FOLLOW-UP PROCEDURE:  Gather intelligence without hostile engagement. Assess need for and assign appropriate task-force for capture of the Class-A.

 

NAME/ROLE/CONTACT OF WITNESSES: Hyeong Cheol-Gan

 

 -----

 

The rest were attached photos, autopsies, transcripts - things he'd read already in detail, no major losses to the world - Mephisto thinks. He's been so absorbed and so taken with Japanese culture that he likes to think he has an in-depth understanding of what the ordinary public think of the filthy criminal underbelly. They had this struggling paradigm of trying to appear like honourable criminals - if such a thing existed - and the many gangster films that he'd absorbed in his spare time when feeding his Otaku addictions made a point to highlight it. Mephisto, however, is an educated demon, and is keenly aware of all the terrible things that were in the Yakuza's nature, and how brutal they could be - _humans were so very interesting like that_ \- and while they were fascinating, the world was not suffering from their loss, some might even say the Class-A did everybody a favour. The question remains, how does a - as the records estimate - petite young girl get involved in this sort of a mess, and further to that, how does she maintain control over more than one rot creature? It is not unheard of or even supremely rare for someone with Tamer qualities to be able to hold control over more than one, the Order of the True Cross has many capable exorcists with such ability, but they were often weaker demons. Ghouls are fairly mindless, but to have as many as three listed in the report from Ushio - and then being able to form a Kōkusu is no easy feat. He and the court consider the Class-A to be a possible Demon-Eater, but the question would remain, to what did she consume? He only knows of Astaroth but the Demon King is assumed to be in direct service of Satan in Gehenna, if he is not there and in fact, possessing this girl subtly, then not only has one of his brothers updated his playbook, but the girl should be considered a more immediate threat than even the bounty placed on Saburota Todo.

 

It's only when he hears his name, does Mephisto bother to snap out of his thoughts.

 

"We must consider and elevate her threat level, apprehend her alive," motioned the Grigori "-before the Illuminati does, assuming they aren't already involved with her," Izaya's intelligence was unfortunately, not vastly useful, and Shura could corroborate it or rather the lack thereof, all the girl did was go out, according to her. "Do we have a known address for her?"

 

"No fixed abode," Izaya shrugged when asked - a few times, more than he cares to admit, he's had you crash at his place, either in his bed or on his couch, most days he isn't sure where you wash up. Shura tailed you a few times, and finds you bouncing in and out of different homes with different people, a lot of them seeming to be strangers. The only frequent haunt you have - where you put down any roots at all - is a seedy restaurant called The 300 Dragon, a strange little eatery-bar on the outskirts of the most outrageous clubs of Roppongi, which is usually EDM central, filled with a wilder and more extreme party lifestyle than even the cheap, lively places in Shibuya that Shura likes to frequent, like Coins - as she likes to actually be able to hear herself talk, Roppongi was a more of a once-a-year birthday party kind of ordeal for her, but for you, it seemed like every other night.

 

Shura likes to think herself younger than she is and more than enough energy to keep up, but even she's uncertain as to how long a person can go for before they get sick of it, you seemed to show no signs of stopping. There's murmured talk - when the priority and threat level is maximised and prioritises you even over the capture of Saburota Todo, but the Angelic Legion currently has affairs tied up elsewhere, which is what prevented them from dealing with the release of the Impure King. It is because of this, that Mephisto is charged with the duty of making sure a team can capture you for questioning, as now it was not just a matter of high-level summoning and demonic activity in a public area, but also a trial and some kind of an explanation for the deaths of nine exorcists, all of which had families, which you now had to answer for. Death made this more pressing, it seemed.

 

"No more dead exorcists," the Grigori are adamant, and that means they do not care whose help Mephisto employs in order to secure this, or if the demon actually has to get his hands dirty - _'oh, perish the thought,'_ \- Mephisto mused. He wouldn't if he didn't have to, he had some thinking to do on the matter, and a quick conversation with Izaya, before he began to juggle the rest of his problems, of which there are many. 

 

One might even argue he's one of Assiah's most important men.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**The 300 Dragon | Roppongi**

**Tokyo, Japan**

 

 

There's an upstairs apartment to the small restaurant, not really meant for living in, really - but that's what you found yourself doing these days. The place felt like a beacon, and by the end of a night - or rather - start of a morning, it was easiest to find. You warmed to it like a homing pigeon, and Kenji never failed to let you in, eventually, he just let you take the spare key. The 300 Dragon brimmed with low music save for karaoke nights and was a stark contrast to the four-floor megaclubs where space was so packed people stepped on each others toes and exchanged sweat when dancing. Seedy though it looked on the outside, it was like a little slice of Chinese heaven in the middle of Japan, and no matter what hour - you could always feed yourself on spicy deep-fried salt and pepper chicken. Certainly, it was world's apart from the other places you'd been - Colombia, Haiti, New Orleans - you found a peace here that you couldn't find in a lot of places. Today, like many nights, you stumbled in after finding a battered silver key, ignoring the "Closed" sign and plodding your way through the upturned chairs and freshly waxed floors. You held your heels in one hand and felt your tights-clad feet hit the cool floor, ankles and toes practically groaning from how sore you were. It was a kind of full body ache that travelled through your entire body.

 

Kenji, a middle-aged sort of guy and unmarried, is used to seeing you like this - and just puts a single hand up in greeting, knowing that your head is likely pounding. It's a sickening ritual - and he cannot seem to fathom your lifestyle. He isn't even fully sure how or why he took you in, maybe it was pity, or attraction mixed with concern, he isn't sure. Whenever he ponders the subject, he finds his mind straying, before sighing and relenting that he could not only do with the company but that the unpaid help was always a bonus. You're just a hard person to say no to, he realised - in fact, he's not sure if he ever has. He shook his head when heading for his bedroom seeing that you'd thrown your clothes off outside of the bathroom, and simply left you to it - but not before going to the pull-out sofa-bed you frequented and put down a tray of your favourite food, he doubted you'd eaten - you rarely ever did much - on your days out, and this was his way of knowing you'd at least had a meal. If only because even in the mornings, on the occasion where you wake up from your hangovers to face the day - has ever seen you have breakfast, you always shrug him off, and say you'll get something outside.

 

On the days you don't come back, he isn't sure where you go and he isn't sure that you know either.

 

"Goodnight," he calls softly, and you murmur it back - shit, you feel bad for the things you do to Kenji sometimes, how much you exploit his hospitality, Hell - most people you have to do that to. You hadn't done much to warrant all this from the man, all you'd done was eat here once and refuse to leave until Kenji told you why he was upset. You'd taken one look and slammed English into your rude tones, asking "Why the long face, are you a lonely-Joe or something?" - and he, well, he didn't know what to say. You were rude, callous - and yet, somehow managed to wear him down to the point of cracking open the saké and admitting that, being thirty one and unmarried was starting to wear him down, as were the pressure-visits from his elderly parents to marry a "nice Japanese girl" - all you'd done was wrap that up. Talk to them, disgrace him ever so slightly (they'd get over it, you hoped) - and freed him from his obligation. Since then, he seemed to just...let you stay, rent free, it seemed cruel to you.

 

_Ha._

 

The scornful inner voice you do your best to ignore scoffs at the thought, and you're too tired to rebuke it, sliding deeply into the steaming hot water, groaning gently as it eases your sore body.

 

_'Just admit you exploit people.'_

 

You sigh, and close your eyes, it's not like you mean to - but you have to get around in the world, what was the point in having all of this power, if you couldn't? You frowned, you did your best not to hurt people who didn't deserve it, and even judging if someone deserved it got into messy territory, but fact is, your mother left you with very little monetarily in this world, and plying your kind of a trade was a good game - to the right, high-rolling client - with a spiritual sort of problem, but most your business was word of mouth between them, so while it had gotten you employ in a few places, you'd spent the last few years brushing up on your knowledge, tracing back it's roots, and doing humanitarian aid in Haiti. It didn't exactly lend itself to filling one's wallet, did it?

 

"Needs must," you mumble, looking up at the tile ceiling, hand splashing idly in the water. On top of the sink, just away from the closest tap, is a thick brown wallet taken from a patron - just some random person - that had been your quick pilfer of the night. You don't do it too much - you prefer to let others buy you things, but - shit... shit, he's right.

 

You _do_ exploit people.

 

_'It's why you fit like a glove.'_

 

You cringe at the terminology used, closing your eyes and sighing as you feel the ambient Coal Tars sweeping in from the open window and gathering around the tub, they long since stopped bothering you. Sann Ensèk (ash bugs) - is what the Creole word for them had been, you idly poke at one with the flat of your finger, and watch it float away like a dust mote. This whole month has been an absolute shitshow - all because you took the stupid Japan job - and sure, you'd gotten it done, but why couldn't they have just contacted those other - those freaks - following you? You knew who Izaya was - you'd pilfered his identification card the day you met him - it didn't take long to put two and two together - the inner voice had called them  _exorcists_ and the I.D card read clearly - first, that Izaya was thirty-four and just  _acted_ crotchety and older than he was, and two, that he was a high ranking exorcist. They'll be after you now, for a while. You shouldn't have called attention to your body's second inhabitant, shouldn't have let him out--

 

 _'It was fucking fun!'_ a malicious sort of glee spread through your body, a hum of pleasure thrumming through you as it forced you to recall the incident.  _'Besides, between what you could do to little bitch Yakuza and what I do them, me beating the shit out of them was a lot more fucking fun,' -_ you can't say you take a huge amount of joy in their deaths, but it isn't something you lose too much sleep over, did that make you a bad person? Probably, but then there were the exorcists with guns, and you'd slammed back into control, pushing the entity inside of you backward and made quick work of them, because you were not in the mood to be shot - regeneration or no, that shit hurt and when you took over the body, no doubt you'd have dealt with bullet shrapnel later. You couldn't lay blame on your inner voice for that. 

 

It's strange, you muse - having Astaroth inside of you. On one hand, he is unremittingly cruel and on the occasion he voices his thoughts, it is usually something malicious and unnecessary, on the other he was oily and persuasive, he operated in extremes - mostly extreme irritation, extreme anger, and extreme persistence, trying to mentally wear you down when it became apparent that such was your power, that he could not forcibly take control. It was jarring and unwelcome, as Astaroth - for all of his brief stay in Assiah - had come to know, a Demon King, especially one such as he, never has anything less than 100% absolute and utter dominion over their host, and can even outlive the native spirit inside if they linger in the body long enough. It was lesser demons who could be pushed to one side even if only temporarily, or otherwise 'share' their host, that, or it took a being of immense power to throw off something of higher ability trying to take over. 

 

Astaroth had to forcefully accept that he was to be a 'backseat driver' in this relationship, and he had no chance of escaping it anytime soon, though the change of events left him room to barter for his release.

 

 _'But now those exorcists will be after you, We are known, silly bitch.'_ He pauses ' _-It wont stop until you let me leave.'_ In truth, he isn't even certain if he wants to - this is a good body, a young, spry thing and most importantly, powerful. It was something he felt the moment he was pulled in and while at first, dragged kicking and screaming, when he settled inside of you - he could only call it ecstasy. It is hard to define, but power to demons is blood to a heart, they lust for it - they're like heat-seeking missiles in that sense, and all of the vices humans are so guilty of can often be amplified in demons in the strangest of ways, depending on their nature. 

 

"No can do boo, you'll just body-hop into someone else," you sigh - and now, knowing him in this way, you also know that he wants to be able to serve Satan, and the biggest drawback to your body despite the obvious lack of control, is the fact that he cannot serve his Master in this way, and no amount of convincing could shake you from the belief that some things just had to remain separate, and that the nature of the balance shouldn't be interrupted. Your teachings and occult practice growing up had long since taught you the value of the balance, the chaos that blending Earth and Hell could cause... would be unprecedented. Apocalyptic, even. 

 

So, for the foreseeable, you were stuck with one another.

 

' _The exorcists will take you,'_ he says smartly ' _your only choice is my brother Lucifer, or Gehenna.'_

 

You snort - so, let them come. There's very few things left to fear anymore for somebody like you. But it is not a point of ego anymore, so much as one of exasperation - pure, wet, naked fear was one of those things that reminds us that we're alive. It humbles a person, it drags them back down to where they should be, to exist without that sort of barrier is a lot more torturous than one would think. You do not fear the exorcists so much as you are just anxious about them, killing those people - whether they'd come at you first or not - had set forward a series of things in motion, and there would be consequences, of that, you're certain, and no, you wouldn't run from them. Astaroth cannot understand it, but there is a lot that despite sharing a body with you, he does not share a mind, often he finds himself at dead ends or endless, torturous circles and rooms walled up with impossible strength because when he finds himself on the precipice of a secret, he gets this overwhelming backlash that tells him it isn't for him to know. That's another thing about being inside of you in this manner, it is irregular, it is frustrating, and there are many, many unknowns. It was amazing, because for Astaroth, it was like walking on a vibrating surface, thrumming with an ancient, unadulterated, primordial power that he knew simmered beneath your skin, so close, but so out of reach. It's intoxicating. It's intoxicating being inside of you. Lesser beings couldn't stomach it, and it was why you were surprised when Astaroth could - not knowing the true nature of his power until he tried to claim dominion over your mind and body once he was inside. 

 

He felt the surprise ripple through you the day you took him into your body, not expecting to feel his additional - impressively immense - power. He figured out why you'd done what you'd done - imprisoning him in this way, you fully expected him to disappear into this vat of your own power, to dissolve like acid - and be torn apart.  _Lesser beings have,_ you had commented at the time - it was almost a point of pride that you refused to house anything except those of great power, and such was yours that anything weaker would easily be torn asunder with hardly a lick of effort on your part.  

 

As he felt your true disregard for the exorcists that would surely come, he felt his bargaining chip slip away yet again. Every little writhe inside of you, every gripe for power, whether you're asleep or awake - it's like there is something inside of you never slumbers that sharply rebukes him for his efforts. It is as if it has locked Astaroth into your nervous system good and tight, on his worst nights - it's an emotional iron maiden, suffocating him, but the good times were truly great times - the power, nauseating, intoxicating and all-encompassing could feel euphoric - yet other times, akin to drowning.

 

He wants to leave as much as he wants to stay, and the relationship is complicated to say the least - but the fact he has no choice, well, that makes things easier in a sense. Astaroth doesn't have to think about it, and should he be failing in his duties, it would be at the behest of his father that he gain the strength or assistance to otherwise leave you. Astaroth even warned you that it could happen, but again, he finds a certain despondency, though there is a healthy undercurrent of fear layered deeply within it, it is too small and too well hidden for it to be considered a more sizeable weakness.

 

Astaroth wonders what on Assiah it could be, that even dwarfs a human's fear of Satan, but when he pries - the metaphorical door between you slams shut, and he is left with nothing. The fact that you can hide knowledge from him, even within the same body, is frustrating as it is fascinating.

 

_'Sober up, brat.'_

 

His voice is harsh, he doesn't begrudge you doing what you want - it's not something he can stop anyway - but he does begrudge you showing weakness, and if the exorcists were to come - well, as impressive as your last display was, he was certain you would want to employ less lethal techniques (why, he isn't sure, killing everyone is much faster, but he's tired of your emotional angst), and for that, you needed to broaden your understanding of exorcism. And oh, you had one, certainly, but Astaroth did not consider it complete or conventional knowledge by any stretch. Why, he knows for a fact what you practice and what you know is a very ancient form of exorcism, but it is by far not the most complete, streamlined or practical. The sleeping, primordial, ancient rituals certainly held their appeal, and the strange, foreign knowledge that bleated under your skin was not for Astaroth to scoff at - not when you had him burdened to you, like a forceful ball and chain to Assiah.

 

But still, he found your lack of well-roundedness disappointing. In his mind, there is still very much the possibility of turning you to Satan, and he would prefer to have you at the peak of your ability for such. It's why his more abrasive and sadistic tactics had fallen by the wayside, and the King of Rot found himself fiddling with deception and temptation to try to get what he wants. It's pretty transparent, and you made your stance very clear, but it wont stop him trying, it's not like there's much else left for him to do.

 

' _While you may not give a crap about the exorcists coming, I assure you, my traitorous brothers are far more powerful than their grunts and loathe to admit it - even more-so than me. You will have much bigger fish to fry, and I do so fucking love the smell of a human barbecue'_ he chuckles somewhat, and you, far past being unnerved by those sorts of statements, roll your eyes and ignore the smell of death oozing into the modest bathroom. Your body groaned, and it hurt - you brought it on yourself, naturally, it's not like you worked a regular 9 to 5 sort of job, now was it?

 

_'A chapter, and I'll fall silent.'_

 

You snort, you could sleep even through the constant wittering eventually, but the deal is tempting. The smell of death gets a little thicker - as it always does when Astaroth is attempting to manifest his power outside of your body, and you humour him in letting it be so, the smell isn't particularly enticing, but at the very least, it is somehow sobering you up. Part of you can feel where this is going though - where it's always been going - as of late. The bath begins to drain slowly, of its own accord, the plug having been moved without anybody touching it. A small weight presses itself against the top of your chest, flat to where your heart beats steadily, 

 

"This again?" you breathed out in a low, quiet tone, before letting out a small laugh. 

 

Astaroth does not respond, and instead - you feel your body being gently pushed down further into the tub to match the sinking water levels, until the now-cooling water rises back up to your shoulders, before very quickly going down the rest of your torso, exposing you to the cold. 

 

_'You need incentive.'_

 

Well, he's callously blunt, isn't he? Then again, Astaroth isn't one to mince words, but there's a certain egotism to think that he is just _so good_ that he can automatically lure you in through bodily temptation. That said, it wasn't entirely unfounded - demons can air on the more well-versed side of what it takes to lure and entrap humans, how to play to vices certainly, and Astaroth is no exception. The difference being - the technique he's trying now isn't within his usual remit, he usually holds total dominion over vessels with a strong penchant for sadism and malice, and while you didn't lack for either, it was hardly your entire being. Astaroth finds himself with disturbingly few bargaining chips, and his best bet is to work with the begrudgingly symbiotic relationship that came to being forcefully tethered to your being. This, he knew, worked - in a moment of weakness, after an unsatisfying and rather upsetting night with what he calls a ' _disgusting Roppongi club boy trash'_ \- that was all it had taken, a moment of weakness for the maggot to crawl in, and you had allowed it.

 

One moment is all it takes, and now Astaroth knows that this is something he can do to you, and have you listen.

 

' _What is the point of all of this power if you don't use it to your advantage? And power without knowledge is worthless anyway, brat.'_

 

"You sound like my mother," you bit out sombrely, closing your eyes as you felt a warm, delicate sensation trailing down your skin, raising goosebumps as though someone were blowing soft breathes against where the previously higher water levels, which were now down to your thighs. 

 

' _Don't think about your mother.'_

 

It is more of a command than something comforting, like he was sharply telling you off for distracting from his ministrations, the pressing feeling spreading to your chest, making you suddenly aware of just how cold the bathroom was and just how warm Astaroth's manifesting touch could be.

 

_'Not right now.'_

 

"This'll just tire me out," you pointed out, preferring to reply aloud when you could, if only to give yourself a moment where yours and Astaroth's contact could feel separate. That's all it takes, and the thickness of the Coal Tar begins to disperse, the massaging, delicate feeling began to leave, allowing you to sit up in the now-empty porcelain tub. You crossed your arms over your breasts out of instinctiveness when you felt the cold hit fully once the warmth of the simulated touch had left, and the smell of rot began to recede as you stumbled out of the tub, quickly wrapping yourself in a towel to keep yourself warm.

 

_'Then earn it.'_

 

You snort - shaking your head with an amused smirk that Astaroth doesn't need to see to know that it is there. 

 

"Arrogant little devil, aren't you?"

 

_'See if you can find the Grand Grimoires - Lesser Key of Solomon or The Book of Abramelin next, it should be under the pile of slutty underwear.'_

 

"Rude too."


	2. By the emptiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im fucking depressed and want to fidget spin myself into the sun and die a fiery death, sorry if this is shit as a result. Song mentioned is 'Or Nah' by Ty Dolla Sign, cos the Reader is hot garbage and trying to get attention.

 

 

You didn't get much reading done, the Grand Grimoires are huge, and it's the last place your mind is at tonight. They're old, historical pieces of work that count as the classical backbone of Daemonology, some from as early as thirteenth century, and funnily enough - available from most public libraries on request, or as historical reference material. There's many grimoires, you'd come to learn, which had been recovered from the medieval times, but it was Astaroth who pointed out the most relevant materials with which you could get your hands on. He has an obsession with having you be at your pique of power, and for that, you needed to be smarter - so there is rarely a night where you go without reading no matter how hard you partied previously. You don't own much - in terms of clothes and shoes it's mostly club-wear that's kept in a small gym bag near the pull-out sofa, but if you were to have any earthly possessions that meant something to you, they were all kept in a small, brass jewellery box, wrapped in a sheet of leather. Unfortunately, the best teaching materials on Assiah were in the remit of the Vatican, and Astaroth's brother Samael. That was hard enough to reconcile - a son of Satan -  _running the exorcist school._

 

 _'He has not stepped foot in Gehenna or spoken to our Lord-Father in over two-hundred years,'_ \- Astaroth had commented upon him scathingly ' _-and he has our younger brother, Amaimon, following. It's disgraceful. He'd have Beelzebub too, if not for me.'_

 

Ah yeah, the Gehenna hierarchy and inter-demon relationships, that was as complicated as it sounded, but the King of Insects beholding himself to the King of Rot made sense, in a strange way. Demons have the most complicated relationship with Assiah you had ever seen, and they are as broad and as varied as human beings, you had come to know. It's surprising that not more of the demon kings have made themselves known in some way - you're baiting Astaroth of course, as what of Azazel? Iblis? Egyn? - You feel a sharp wave of annoyance, and even anger when you pushed it. 

 

 _'Azazel is here. Was here. Complicated,'_ You felt a certain - not hurt, but, a strange, misplaced resentment - and you shook your head, sliding into a dressing gown to sleep in and dropping on the sofa bed, book in hand. It seemed Astaroth had no real desire to exposite the feelings he'd had towards his family, if any, but you don't need him to. You scoffed at his nature - it isn't as different or as complicated as the demon king would assume of himself. He's a dime-a-dozen in his reasoning, whether he wants to admit it or not. This causes a low, barely-amused chuckle escape you as your finger massaged the spine of the old book.

 

"Geez, it doesn't matter how high up on the pole you are, you're all the same," you muttered, ignoring the sharp headache that Astaroth shoots at you in response.

 

"You came first, Gehenna came first," you rolled your eyes "-God's creation, and then, God got bored or something - I don't know, but he makes a sandbox. So he fills it. He fills it with all these new, wonderful, interesting things - all these fun toys, experiences to die for. Food, music, art, sex - and then us," you sigh when he's quiet, but carry on anyway "-imperfect, flawed, but free - us - and we get to relish in it, and you guys - you guys don't even get to play in it, unless you're dragging humans down to your level. Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before. A lot, actually. This sense of injustice some demons have, when they plunge inside someone. Possess them - like they deserve to be there. Like trying to stretch a fucking condom on and try to feel what we feel, do as we do, - but honey, I got news. You're the latex allergy in this metaphor. Demons aren't meant to have bodies of their own, not like this. You can manifest, I'm sure. But your power has limits here, when you do that, right? You need bodies,"

 

_'Yes. Samael and Amaimon have bodies. Their own, like the Okumuras I told you about but - not quite. Not really. Imitations. They weren't born into it.'_

 

 _"_ And that's the kicker, demon." You mumble, closing the book and putting it to one side. "-Have you ever considered that you aren't entitled to shit? Sometimes, we just suffer, for no good rhyme or reason. You're from Hell, you should understand that better than anyone,"

 ' _Humans have never accepted their suffering, why should we?'_

 

Huh, he has a point. Stories for decades have been about the consequences of human hubris - flying too close to the sun, always wanting more. Astaroth doesn't want to debate with you though, he's about as tired as you are, and he feels it, he just doesn't complain about your moods affecting his because it would admit another loss of control he isn't comfortable with.

 

_'I'm never getting anywhere with you, am I?'_

 

"Not really, no. I have a feel for how important the separation is between our kind, there can be crossover, but total assimilation? No baby, bad news all over." You mumbled tiredly, curling up on the sofa bed. "-too tired for this argument with you, Astaroth. We've had it a thousand times already, and there's bigger things to worry about,".

 

_'My brothers?'_

 

"The Vatican, yeah. I can't stay here, bring the heat on Kenji, s'not fair," you yawned "-I owe it to him to keep him safe and out of my mess, if nothing else."

 

_'So what's the plan, brat?'_

 

You closed your eyes and smiled, as though it were obvious - because in a way, it was, you'd weighed it up now you had some time to think, there's not much left to be scared of, and you did consider you'd overreacted slightly. It's been a couple of years since you'd been shot though, and you didn't really want to have to deal with that, it was a very human fight-or-flight response. But still. A lot of people died because of you.

 

"Shit, Astaroth, what else? I'm turning myself in."

 

* * *

 

 

Unfortunately, it seemed that Astaroth didn't have the knowledge on how to contact exorcist branches directly, and didn't think it was a good idea regardless. Still, there was some incredible amount of balls behind it that the Demon King couldn't help but marvel at. The only location he knew that would directly get their attention to turn ones self in, besides causing another scene - which was the option Astaroth was keen on - would be going directly to True Cross Academy. You had to wonder how exactly people got referred to their services if it was this hard to get ahold of them the standard way in the internet era. It's honestly commendable that they manage to keep such a thing quiet in the information age, you'd have to ask them if you ever got the chance. It was a strange thing to Astaroth, how your morals seemed to be in a state of constant flux, but whether you were particularly angry or rather calm, it seemed that Kenjii had a special spot reserved in your heart, however small it was. 

 

Enough that you would be doing this to keep him safe anyway. You could just keep moving - that is an option too - but you weren't one to run away. Your pride forbade it, for a start. What is the point of insurmountable power if there is anything left on this Earth to be afraid of? You had to face the music of course, it is the responsibility of anybody with an unreasonable amount of power. You couldn't kill so many people and just walk away, what gave you the right, after all?  Astaroth cannot say he understood the logic, but he was becoming more and more keenly aware that your mental stability wasn't the most solid. It made for interesting decision-making, anyway. He seemed to think you jumped at an opportunity to punish yourself, though why - is anyone's guess.

 

"There is probably an easier way to do this," you mused aloud, laying in the back of a large, flashing red roofless Mercedes, your hand shoving itself into a greasy bucket of KFC that was laying backward against the plush leather seating. Sitting heavy on your face were a thick set of frames that darkened the view and covered a great majority of your face in cheap, heart-shaped splendour. It kept the beaming sun out of your eyes and were a much treasured part of your limited wardrobe. The car drove down busy stretches of road with ease, manoeuvring like butter through the traffic in a manner at best, deemed unnatural.

 

 _'Probably,'_ _-_ Astaroth agreed, vaguely amused as you pick a lewd, English tune and shove it on play, letting the bass-boosted speakers send vibrations throughout the entire ride and turn heads as you blaze down the road.

 

"But if this is wrong, I don't wanna be right. You reckon they'll crucify me?" you spoke aloud, though the driver doesn't respond. He's somewhat glazed over, driving mindlessly down the motorway. 

 

 _'Oh, my woman, you've got a dark mind,'_ he practically chuckles beneath the depths of your skull _'Crucifixion? I thought that fell out of fashion decades ago'._

 

"You said Vatican," you shrugged, feeling the wind whip your hair and seep through the light, thin clothing you'd worn. "i assume crucifixion, comes with the territory doesn't it?" and if you truly think that but tempt fate anyway, for the umpteenth time, Astaroth wonders at the kind of person he's inhabiting. The view around you began to change, less and less cars on the road now and going further out from your would-be home, the skies even looked like they were becoming clear of clouds the more the car continued to skid down the streets. Astaroth is quiet, for a moment, and then quite suddenly, plunges deep - giving you a sharp headache suddenly, your soft yelp covered up by the blaring CD you'd wedged into the music player at the front.

 

He searches, looking for fear, and finds himself wanting - as again - there is that irrational lack.

 

It's refreshing, in a way. A human that is not afraid, but right now, he was wondering if this was going to be a detriment now, he made no secret of the fact that he wasn't a fan of you turning yourself in.

 

"The fuck was that?" you moan a little, grumbling and stuffing some more food in your mouth as a large, palatial building shows itself in the distance. 

 

Astaroth doesn't immediately respond, but you can almost imagine him frowning - if his true form could even do such a thing - a palpable reluctance to answer. He stirs inside of you, like a snake struggling to find a comfortable position on a warm rock, a strange current of uncertainty that is uncharacteristic of the Demon King flows through you. He's looking for something, but neither of you are even fully certain what he's looking for. You feel - rushed - full of adrenaline but not in the same way you had in the park when facing off against that scummy Yak, no. It's like a permanent state of being, like you're blocking something out. It isn't right though, of all the people Astaroth's possessed - none of them of particularly well mind - this feels similar, but tangibly worse. Something is off, and if he had to guess, it might have to do with leaving Kenjii behind.

 

When he doesn't reply, you absorb yourself in the trashy music, and look up appreciatively at the practically byzantine structure that lay ahead. 

 

Shit, it put public school to shame, didn't it?

 

_'Why don't you care?'_

 

Astaroth breaks your sudden absorption of trashy hip-hop, your fingers cease drumming against the side of the car for all of a few moments as you furrow your brow in curiosity and confusion.

 

' _Why don't you care? I understand why you're not afraid, with that power. But why don't you care? I've sat back quietly which is not something I fucking enjoy doing and enough is enough. You're going through with this idiot scheme to turn yourself in for some worthless mortal whose not got anything to offer us, I've sat back and let you not care and dance in your awful clubs. I don't fucking get it woman. Why don't you care? About anything? Most mortals do.'_

 

Huh, it's the most forthwith he's ever been with you, but maybe, you suppose, he thinks he might not be inside you for very long if you're driving headlong for an academy of exorcists, and his tone made you instinctively indignant - except - you didn't exactly have an answer.

 

"Because!" you mutter, grabbing a large cola resting in the cup holder aggressively, brow furrowing to its deepest.  "Because..."

 

And then it hit him. Only for a second. A moment. A brief window into the Fort Knox that had forever kept the beast caged, that thing he always yearned to know of - to be part of - the power that came with a price. For a moment, the gate opened, and Astaroth _felt it._ He sees flashes of things - bits of memory that don't have context because you're quickly trying to keep your mind from thinking about it, from dwelling, but there it is. The key to it all, like just from one gentle pry - and the fact he is inside of you in the most intimate sense as he does it - is finally enough. Astaroth is hit with a veritable tsunami of emotions, and suddenly he cannot even utter a word. He's drowning in wave after wave of it. Sadness - sadness in buckets, a depression that felt like the world's largest pair of concrete shoes shoving you into the bottom of the deepest lake. If Gehenna were a sword, it was as though the sharpened tip had been driven through his gut and he was experiencing it twisting around inside of him. Sadness, resentment, depression - an overwhelming hopelessness, like nothing is worth it, a nihilism so powerful that had he any control and you were standing, your knees would have buckled from the weight of it.

 

It's immense, and shows no sign of ending, until you clam up again, and he is suspiciously silent.

 

"I'm sad." You utter simply.

 

For once, the snarky demon remains quiet.

 

 

* * *

 

  _Do you like the way I flick my tongue, or nah?_

 

There is an innumerable amount of papers sitting not-so-invitingly on the headmaster's desk. All of it dispels much of the fun that comes with ownership of such a prestigious school, but doing all of this - feels a little bit like sliding on a human suit, like you're really playing hard to belong in the playground. Mephisto - or - Johann Faust, as the golden name plaque on the desk read, was happy to do it, even if it wasn't exactly fun, most of his serious work is delegated to others anyway. It is not too much of a surprise then, when it is his little brother, (whom he's beginning to call 'his little bother' for how much trouble he manages to get into) - that notices the walls vibrating. Well, that's incorrect, Mephisto noticed that, but what he didn't notice immediately - mostly because his mind was still on field trip risk assessment paperwork - is that his office is impossibly high up and there is no way on God's green Earth he should be hearing anything that makes his office vibrate.

 

"It's coming from - that is strange. From outside. It shouldn't be doing this." Amaimon comments on the obvious, he doesn't know of any human sound system that could possibly reach that high, by all rights, it is breaking Natural Law somewhat. He tilts his head curiously, his face still utterly blank and betraying nothing of his thoughts, but Mephisto reads him easily anyway, following his line of sight, and suddenly is rather thankful that English isn't on the curriculum at True Cross as more words blare too-clearly through his office like the world's most obnoxious siren, half of them lewd to say the least, with even lewder subject matter. He finds it a bit uncouth, if he's honest.

 

_But the way you wrappin' 'round me is a problem, ain't nobody tryna save ya, baby get that paper._

 

It was absolutely unnatural. He puts down an overly sugary smoothie he'd been nursing, sharp ears twitching when Amaimom moves to the large windows that almost go from ceiling to floor, observing the tired brush of students going home, stopping and staring, before moving onwards. That in itself is odd, that they haven't all clustered around the oddity - more to the point, the reams of security to enter the City of True Cross had done nothing to stop this obtrusive presence either, it was as though it was untouchable, and demanding their attention. Still, uneducated in the ways of English or not, most of the population can recognise the odd swear from popularised "Engrish" that often ends up emblazoned on fashion items through Japan, and suddenly the 'Responsible Adult' facade comes to mind as he realises he needs to shut this down, and quickly, since it's more than a little inappropriate, and whoever was doing it was trying to get their attention.

 

_Probably got a lot of other bitches owe you favours._

 

He walks with an impressive amount of confidence in his gait that comes from power and the ability to back it up, tongue sharpened and ready to rebuke the negative influence in his perfect little bubble world. He leaks a power and even Amaimon can feel it, it isn't true rage, and curiosity is overtaking most of the irritation, but the anger is there, however small it is. There was a temptation to send someone else to deal with it, but the irregularity of it all was curious enough that he addresses the matter himself, his metaphorical 'headmaster hat' on, ready to act like a perfectly outraged Johann Faust V. 

 

Mephisto gets to the bottom of the school in mere moments, with Amaimon close by in a minor form. What he sees however, is not what he expects. The red Mercedes is parked in the most obnoxious manner possible - diagonally - and half over the natural grass he'd had planted which caused tire tracks to blaze and destroy it partially. The vibrations of the sound system are now under his feet, making his shoes feel like they were conducting electricity as he neared it, arms folded over his chest in an uncharacteristically uptight pose for the sake of maintaining appearances while normal students milled around. 

 

He resists the urge to pull a face when his ears catch more of it, but your deeper, amused tones following along with it.

 

_Pussy so good I had to save that shit for later, took her to the kitchen, fucked her right there on the table._

 

That was enough.

 

 _"Excuse you,"_ He's tempted to snap his fingers and jam the car stereo, but barely refrains, Amaimon is confused - mostly in that he doesn't think the words match the large, plump lips they're falling out of, because they're so masculine and aggressively sexual in a way that ill suits, but you don't seem to care, or even recognise that you're being addressed. He looks at you, and sees your heels draped either side of the driver's headrest from the backseat, the driver not even responding or turning his head to Mephisto's words, like he was just a dummy in the front seat. His eyes rove over you - seat belt untouched, an empty KFC bargain bucket next to you, a lazy pair of scuffed grey jeans, deep, tanned skin that reminded him of his jaunts in South America, a pair of heart-shaped glasses that devoured your face and exposed only a pair of - admittedly lovely - lips, spewing out pure, liquid filth.

 

 _'I'm tryna make these bitches sweat - I'm tryna keep that pussy wet,'_  he cannot see if your eyes are looking at him past those frames, but he can feel it as your lips curled in dark amusement, drawing out the last sentence.

 

_'I'm tryna fuck her and her friends,'_

 

He sees more students with eyes wide passing by and quickly snaps his fingers, cutting the track short by jamming the stereo easily. He should have done that earlier.

 

"Excuse you," you replied, frowning into the overlarge shades when the music suddenly cut.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" his tone, suddenly low and dangerous - not something Amaimon hears from him often.

 

"You the boss or something? I'm here to turn myself in. Here's me thinking I was on your radar, I come here with a bow on top, but now I just feel a bit insulted." 

 

Your smile is humourless, showing far too many teeth in it to be kind.

 

"I killed a couple of exorcists."

 

The Unknown. On his doorstep.

 

_"You!"_

 He almost laughed at the ludicrousness of it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The pain reverberated through your sternum and sent vibrations of agony right the way through your torso to your legs. It was enough to make you keel on the spot, even with Astaroth lending his power, letting your body regenerate faster, there is no other way to slice the fact that being stabbed hurt like a motherfucker. Your hands clamber up to where the holy athame had been driven into you, and as blood begins to drip through your thin tank-top, you find yourself desperately scooping at the blood. Funny, even when in abject pain, your mind instantly soars to the importance of all that the human body could secrete - especially yours. Blood, breathe, hair, bone and nail - all are important composites to occultism, all of it is important. Sacred, even. Astaroth hadn't quite understood this, until he witnessed it for himself, but there is power in human parts, not just a name. Names, Astaroth could understand. They carry weight and power - the True Name of a demon is the only thing that can be said within their Fatal Verse to expunge them from this world, their True Name is the only thing that can be used in a summoning circle to bind them to a Tamer, a name carried great importance - and you'd come to drill that same importance to the human body. 

 

"Oh, Lord in heaven," you winced, trembling on your feet and looking up at the dark, black-coated offending exorcist whom you did not recognise. "W-what was that for?" you're choking, but you don't seem remotely worried about dying, or long-term damage, and your flippant attitude is a little perturbing to the dispatch team you had more or less walked in front of.

 

"So you can't try anything," he responded in a clipped tone "-as long as that's hanging out of you, no demon tricks. It's blessed. If you're submitting to Vatican custody, you won't pull it out,".

 

Ah, blessed blade - with Astaroth inside of you, no wonder it stuck like a bitch.

 

"W-what, you couldn't have blessed a pair of handcuffs?" you croaked, feeling something wrap around your lower torso - like a rope or chain of some sort. 

 

"You're responsible for the death of nine exorcists and a few civilians, and you're suspected of harbouring a demon king, excuse us if we don't give a shit dear," he responds with a sugary sort of sweetness, while sounding totally impatient. Shit, you may have deserved it, but it didn't mean you had to like it. Astaroth, however, is far angrier - and suffering worse for it, you can feel his rage clawing at you while the exorcists of the True Cross branch quickly take you into custody. He's foaming at the mouth with anger, he didn't agree with your plan but could appreciate how you reached to the conclusion of handing yourself in, if you truly had no desire to side with Satan and the Illuminati. But this response? Really? Somehow, Astaroth expected better of those that sided with his brother's ilk, yet, he's totally unsuprised.

 

_'You hand yourself to their mercy and they fucking stab you? Kill them. Kill all of them. Bastards--! This -- fucking hurts!'_

"Please," you wheezed "-if I had something against you, I wouldn't have to get out of bed to hurt you," you groaned a little "-your little knife hurts like hell, but if I wanted to try something, you couldn't stop me love, not even if I wanted you to, so just - shit - agh, not so tight!" you hissed, feeling a chain around you tighten.

 

"We don't know who you are, what you are or how you did what you did, but nine exorcists are dead and we're not taking risks," a softer spoken member of the True Cross branch spoke - you wondered, blithely, where Izaya was, but decided not to name-drop him lest it actually got the guy in trouble, it'd get back to him eventually, you were sure. It was getting hard to thing with the piece of metal hanging out of your chest, but you don't try to pull it out - and with your arms now bound to your side with a thick, metal and probably blessed chain, you don't make motion to struggle your way out of it. Looking down through a watery-eyed haze of pain, you can see the steady leak of blood dripping to your belt line and wondered just how harsh these exorcists were. First the guns, now this? Drugging you might have been kinder, now you think about it.

 

Then again, you did kill a lot of their people.

 

_'Why are you letting this happen? Woman! WOMAN--!'_

 

The last thing you recall feeling as something heavy lands in contact with the back of your head, and everything goes black.

 

_I'm doing it for Kenji._

 

Astaroth rages within your unconscious body - he doesn't understand you. When he thinks he does, it becomes apparent he does not. Kenji was always some worthless little piece of mundane life to him, some bit of consistency in your otherwise hectic life, his home and restaurant was a place to use and abuse at will, his kindness meant nothing to him. Astaroth has seen you charm your way past paying entrance fees to the clubs in Roppongi, he's seen you smear your lips with a strange, dark creation and lull strangers whose names you barely took note of into being your source of amusement for a night. He's seen you take and drop humans at a will, it's something he found appealing about you, so he cannot understand your attachment to Kenji. Why you feel as though you owe him shit, when he's the idiot who got suckered in by the pretty face of an overly nosy foreigner.

 

He didn't care if the exorcists came in, guns blazing. Astaroth would have preferred that, he enjoyed a battle, but this? Mercy, turning yourself in just to keep someone was worthless as the restaurant owner safe was antithetical to everything about Astaroth. Truly, he fucking despised the idea of suffering for it too. 

 

_'Can pity extend this far? I don't understand humans.'_

 

He's certain you don't _like-like_ Kenji, or you'd treat him better, and Astaroth knows everything that runs through your mind when it came to more lustful inclinations, so it's not that either. He's fuming, and when you awaken, he wants nothing more than to crush the entirety of Vatican City under the fine point of your heel, or raze the place to the ground. You could do it too, you're brimming with power, and he cannot understand why you  would accept the treatment you're receiving. 

 

He understands even less when you begin to laugh, hysterically so.

 

"Is it a bit late for 'turning the other cheek' or no?" the fact you're cheeky the instant you come around is a sign you're going to be more of a headache than they thought.

 

A dispatch member responds, by sending a boot directly into your left kneecap and making you crumble to the floor from the sudden unexpectedness of it.

 

 "Right, okay. Deserved that."

 

It's only when Mephisto enters the scene that the boot stops inches away from your face.

 

It seems you're high on the shitlist, and while they're glad to have captured you, nobody is happy to see you.


	3. Reality Check Thy Name is Voodoo

 

The moment you were dragged out like a sacrificial lamb, he felt like he was staring at a blur. It's how he'd felt since laying eyes on you, but now you'd been impaled and your abilities left in suspension, it seemed more pronounced, like you were responding to the athame unceremoniously lodged into your torso. Mephisto watches with curiosity, he is without a doubt that Astaroth is inside you the moment he looks at you, because he is only one wrung bellow the most powerful Demon King to manifest in Assiah, you would be hard pressed to hide anything from a man such as he. Naturally, he doesn't affirm this with the True Cross Order, because it would infuriate them to know that if he'd done this mission himself, so much deep cover wouldn't have been necessary, but Mephisto is loathe to get his hands dirty, and has his hands full with managing affairs for the Angelic Legion, especially when the leader of such - Arthur Angel - takes no joy in asking for his help when he so clearly needs it. In truth, Mephisto is a man spread far and thin and if not for his tremendous power he would be able to serve Assiah and the Vatican in the manner that he does. Still, it would more than annoy key members of council that his ability to detect the presence of his brothers when close to them is something he withheld just so he wouldn't be sent out to personally handle the deep cover operation. It was enough that he had to send one of his favourite Upper-Middle Class Exorcists, Izaya, but Mephisto does not take on more work directly for himself than necessary, or he would hardly have a moment to himself, manipulation of time or not.

 

Mephisto watches as you're led out in ropes and chains, athame hanging limply from your body. It's a vulgar way to entrap someone, he thinks, and remembers when he easily put Rin Okumura in an ice-shard suspension, but then again, this was likely a personally vindictive strike on the part of the arresting exorcists, you did kill a considerable amount of them, after all. There's power slumbering in that little body of yours, and it isn't just Astaroth, he can smell it - he's attracted to it, he shines to it like a moth to a flame, as most demons would, but possesses enough power and wherewithal of his own not to be suckered in by it, just intrigued. He can feel the minor form of his younger brother stirring in one of his many pockets, which tells Mephisto that he sensed it also, but they remain quiet and attentive. He monitors all of your reactions. The one thing he does not detect is fear, which by all rights the human side of you should be feeling at the very least.

 

Honestly, staring you just raises a whole heap of questions. Why is Astaroth taking such deep cover?

 

_'What is he planning?'_

 

It's only when you open your mouth, and speak your own words - not Astaroth's - oozing out of your lips with as much blasé attitude as you'd had when you first confronted him that the King of Time and Space reached an absolutely chilling conclusion within a matter of minutes.

 

_'What if Astaroth **can't** speak?'_

 

Such a thing would be laughable, unspeakable,  _impossible -_ as it as been public record within the Vatican for hundreds of years that Demon Kings have no less than total and utter dominion over hosts to the point of being able to consume their souls and contain their host body until it is irrefutably theirs, it didn't take much experimentation within the deepest recesses of the Vatican to reach this conclusion, as with the bodies Mephisto and Amaimon possessed being living examples of this. Demon Kings had too much power, they wore their hosts like skin-suits until their souls were utterly devoured over a long period of time, and only suspend themselves and maintain the attitude and outward appearance of their host's original personality to keep up a certain visage to ensure their continued possession - as the case had been with Reiji Shiratori, only his possession had been short-term enough and taken care of so resolutely by Father Fujimoto that his festering mortal soul remained intact. Mephisto is certain that Astaroth has neither the power nor ability to deceive him, and yet here he is, trapped in a girl swarming in Coal Tar and unable to speak through her mouth. It is lesser demons who remain in battle with their hosts like in the movies, being weaker than the conviction of their human's host as they'd slip through now and then. This was only ever lesser beings. Never a King. 

 

The whole thing made the Demon King inexplicably uneasy, it isn't something he feels much or at all, so it's a foreign feeling that he isn't sure he welcomes.

 

Still, he remains calm, he is not one easily rattled. 

 

The idea of something truly unknown even to him presents more excitement than anxiety, and is the kind of thrill that the King of Time thrives on. His eyes follow you as you stretch your neck by leaning your head from side to side, letting out a few unsettling noises as though you'd been woken up from a nap. There isn't so much reaction to the pain you must be under but it is clear that you suffer it all the same, as he gazes upon you, he sees you clearly unsettled by seeing your own blood leave your body so freely. You're not blood-shy, far from it - the notion would be laughable, but there was power in blood. Power in the human body, that you knew all too well, and idea of haemorrhaging it all over the floor didn't appeal to you. The crazed demeanour seemed to settle as it became more apparent that you weren't going to unsettle the seasoned exorcists so easily into respecting you. 

 

A series of shuffling noises and low murmurs that amount to an overpowering white noise fills the entire private Vatican court, echoing off of every wall and every gold-laden banister. It oozed a decadence that made it uncomfortable for a holy place, decadence is not something you're unfamiliar with, you're just not used to associating it with the holy. It is in an impressive beauty all the same, and if you didn't have an athame hanging out of your gut you might have taken the time to appreciate it more. The voice of an upperclass exorcist hushes the room with ease, and the air becomes thick with tension as three heavily shrouded figures emerge onto the highest balcony. All three are adorned with a kind of holy shroud that makes you bow your head in acknowledgement, setting the hair on the back of your neck on end.

 

It seems people had been talking for the past few minutes, around you, about you - but you weren't paying anything but those three figures the most attention. There was a tremendous amount of power scattered around the room, but looking at the Grigori felt a little like staring into a shred of divinity, something you were familiar with on a more intimate level. They are not the bodies they have - they are easily something more, looking at them, they weren't - well - like you, in any mortal sense, but they were definitely  _something -_ mortal but more. People of some kind of authority - the Order of the True Cross's Supreme Advisers. 

 

_Others._

 

Your mind called them, when you couldn't draw up the correct term, it is, surprisingly, Astaroth who deigns to share his knowledge with you without making you work for it.

 

 _'These are the regents of traitors.'_ Astaroth comments with no love lost, as he notes you've decided to pay very little attention to what these lowly creatures thought of you. ' _Regents of Azazel - King of Spirit, and the two Sool - emperors to you. Samyaza of Creation and Armumahel of Nothingness -the ones who came to humanity's aid in The Beginning to help you weak fleshbags fight demons. They engendered the Nephilim with their crossbreeding.'_ The King of Rot sneers and you can feel his hypocritical distaste, being how intimate he is with you, but wisely don't stir the pot while he's teaching you sacred history as quickly as he can.

 

' _I do not know the names of the shitty Nephilim that stand before us and bare judgement on you on now, but think of them as avatars for the traitorous members of our kind. These so-called 'Grigori'.'_

 

Armed with this knowledge, you do your best to raise your back straight in chains and keep your dignity. The movement rewards you with the tightening of the chains from all angles, but withholding a flinch, you simply glare at the closest exorcist. 

 

" - of causing their deaths, and it is now that we ask you to be forthcoming in your answers to provide peace and information to the families of those exorcists present, before facing the mercy of your maker - " one of the shrouded Grigori says, and his words are so heavy that they cause a silence as the weight of expectation bore heavy on the air. You did not speak for the longest of time, surveying your crowd and not seeing a sign of Izaya, yet felt his presence, perhaps behind someone you could not simply see through. You had been considering your options long and hard, before silently turning your head towards the exorcist who had your arm chained - and was clearly the man who had a boot trained on your face when you had been taken in, and had forced you to buckle by hitting you in the kneecap.

 

You let out a slow exhale, and silenced the Astaroth and locked eyes with a pair of dark, chocolate brown eyes. If he didn't look like he wanted lightning to strike you down dead on the spot, he might have been handsome. Even with the athame hanging out of you, you felt Astaroth suffering, and weakening. The mistake was assuming  _you_ were. You flexed one of your abilities without sound - it was an ability you didn't use as often as you could because of how purely manipulative it was but it wasn't a moral reason so much as it simply took the fun out of life if used too much and often tired you out. The Rot King was forever in awe of it, and remains quiet in your mind.

 

_Bend the knee._

 

The exorcist feels an intense intercranial pressure in his mind, like it's heating up in zero to an instant as you gaze at him, his eyes water as he's unable to blink too.

 

"Tanaka?" the exorcist holding the chain to your other arm clocked on first in alarm, and the tension in the hall is palpable.

 

_BEND. THE. KNEE._

 

 

It isn't ultimate, it is simply Coercion, the ability to impose one's will onto someone weaker, by willing actions, foreign thoughts, memories - you wish for him to fall to his knees. His jaw sets so tightly he feels like his teeth might crack within his mouth, but in a suddenly, ungraceful movement, he collapsed to both knees in a hard thud that echoes through the massive courtroom. Another exorcist makes a noise of alarm, but before they can try to lock you down further, every exorcist holding a chain falls to their knees in a circle around you, chains hitting the floor.

 

You're now able to reach in for the knife, and draw it slowly out of your body, your moan of displeasure and pain stretching through the hall as you look out to see who might stop you, but they are captivated, perplexed and somewhat apprehensive of the power being displayed. 

 

In truth, it's Mephisto who whispers something about non-intervention, holding Shura or an upper-level exorcist from intervening, saying that we required answers - not a blood bath. This is the only reason several black-clad exorcists haven't further descended down upon you with every weapon possible to subdue you even more. Your body shudders in both pain and relief, stretching your spine out and several more clicks emerging from your bones as you draw your shoulders bag and raise your head high, trying to display the lack of fear that carried you in your very bones.

 

To look a little less off-putting, you drop the athame with an unceremonious clatter near one of the exorcists by your feet. None have spoken, but they're all looking at each other bewildered, and a little frightened.

 

"I will not be handled like an exhibition when I have come to you in good faith," was the first thing you said, letting your sharp attitude seep into your tone, Astaroth rather liked your sass when you ran your mouth off at anybody who  _wasn't_ him, and was absolutely living in this moment.

 

He wished you were like this more often instead of so insecure and depressed.

 

"As for the dead exorcists, if they're still on ice and haven't been cremated, you will find their positions quite reversible," you said softly, not caring for how blasé you were being about the state of their bodies, despite their distraught families and colleagues present.   

 

"They're dead," - somebody shouted, and you turned sharp as a whip, giving the same glare you gave Tanaka to the general direction of the sound even if you could not see the face who said it. 

 

"A small issue in the grand scheme of things, ain't ever let a little thing like death stop me," you said with a shrug, before tossing a streak of your sweat-laden hair back which had gathered in the heat you'd been passed through when being transported to Rome. "I can fix what I did, for a price," you decided not to leave room for more outbursts or stupid questions. You supposed this ghoulish band of weirdos had their own way of doing things and their own concerns, right now your only concern was not ending up in an unrecoverable state, which is what you had feared in Showa Park.

 

"I'll assume you got questions for me, but I don't know how much you got on me. I'll assume you got some kind of paper trail from the Japanese government, being that your police showed up, before referring to an exorcist division when I was dealing with that little mess in Showa Park," you said calmly, with far too much comfort for the situation you were in. "-it shows me you must have  _some_ kind of relationship with the formal powers that be."

 

The Grigori simplify things, and halt all of the outraged noises at your claims, and the outright hatred of the attitude you displayed, and simply asked your name.

 

You gave it, and a little more.

 

"You can call me Mambo as my title, if you wanna, and for the right price, I'll solve any problem ya got," you gave a little half-shrug, and a small smile.   

 

Fuck, that got the King of Time and Space's attention, it was something he'd said verbatim almost himself, and for a while, he forgot to blink, finding himself chewing delicately on the end of a pastel coloured pen that hovered over a notebook on his lap, carefully taking the odd note here and there.

 

"It's what I was doing when your exorcists found me, a third party hired me to take care of a little demon-shaped problem, but due to their....criminal nature, they had no desire to be in contact with formal authorities, which I guess you count as, and contacted me instead. You guys stuck your noses in where you don't belong. If yo' boys had stayed out of my  _damn_ business they wouldn't have a shrapnel accessory hanging out the back of their skulls," you sneered.

 

You were asked, bluntly, about your involvement with Astaroth, and the Demon King had no desire to present himself to the people that had no qualms about sending him to Gehenna and causing him to start over in Assiah all over again, blithely wandering the earth until he found you, his best and most powerful hostess, again.

 

-  _EXECUTE HER -_

 

_\- HAS NO SHAME! -_

You ignore the loud chunters and murmurs.

 

"Yes, he was possessing a popular member of a crime syndicate in opposition to your local scummy Yaks, I'll be honest I don't really care for underground politics any more than I care about actual politics," you said with an eyeroll "-but I didn't know his Expulsion Chant - or whatever, so I pulled him out, and I knew he'd simply spread, so for the moment being, I harboured him to prevent him body-hopping into something else," you said flatly "-I am familiar with malicious aspects of divinity, and I did not desire to have someone else afflicted by it and be constantly called back to do the same job and tango with the same malignant force over and over again, so I kept him,".

 

Mephisto was flabbergasted for a moment.

 

You made the Rot King sound like a dog that followed you home.

 

'Kept him' - ha! He wanted to laugh at the ludicrousness of it, but the look on your face told him you were serious, which merely intrigued him further. If what you were saying was true, it implied you, much like Saburota Todo, consumed an entity, but not only that,  _kept it,_ and thirdly, did this feat on a Demon King - another unheard of concept. If it was true, you presented an unsettling amount of power.

 

"If you possess this power as you have so demonstrated, what was your fear of our exorcists? If you do as we do, and fight as we fight, why did you have them turn on each other?" was a question levied at you.

 

_What were you scared of?_

 

Your body went utterly stiff, and you fell silent, before deciding on your answer, looking at the devastated exorcists related to the ones you'd swiftly executed.

 

"This is not something that should be disclosed in open court, and if you want your answers, you would probably benefit from a closed, private audience smaller than this. You want your answers, I got 'em, but you might not like them, and I don't think you want more people like me around,"

 

Well, shit - hard to argue when you put it like  _that._

 

Mephisto descended and moved through several doors so he'd emerge to the left of the Grigori, motioning to the closest one from the shadows.

 

"I have to talk to her, then," 

 

_I must talk to her._

 

_Any reason will do._

 

He's fascinated - and isn't the only one.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
